


The Sweater Curse

by gghero



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire | Pokemon Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire Versions
Genre: Awkward Crush, Drinking, Flashbacks, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Old Friends, POV Third Person Omniscient, Post-Canon, Present Tense, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 16:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15562326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gghero/pseuds/gghero
Summary: The sweater curse, or curse of the love sweater, is a term used by knitters to describe the belief that if a knitter gives a hand-knit sweater to a significant other, it will lead to the recipient breaking up with the knitter.





	The Sweater Curse

**Author's Note:**

> Another drabble I had in my WIPs and decided to clean up! 
> 
> It hasn't been proofread, and as always, English is not my first language but I hope you enjoy. Thanks to lesbiannanu @ tumblr for beta reading it <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Their fate, sealed with every stitch.

_ “What'cha got there?” _

_ Maxie smiled, offering Archie his carefully wrapped gift. His friend made haste as he opened it, and his eyes lit up when he finally saw what is inside. _

It's just dumb superstition, anyways.

_ “Max! You finished it!” he said, giving the redhead a surprise hug that lingered just a little too long. In his hands, tightly held, was a baby blue sweater, soft, wooly. Archie took off his tee-shirt while Maxie protested, but he too could protest back. “I just want to try it on, damn it!” _

_ Maxie was about to say something, but his throat felt dry as Archie put it on.  _

_ “How do I look?” _

_ “... you should dress like this more often,” he said. He meant, by that, that seeing Archie so happily wearing the fruit of months’ worth of labor made him look especially radiant. The light blue complemented his dark skin very nicely, and it even matched the color of his eyes. The fabric sat comfortably over his figure. Though the idea of making the sweater a little too tight had been too tempting, he knew Archie preferred comfortable clothes.  _

_ He had poured so much effort and care into that sweater, and Archie was beaming. _

_ Maxie smiled triumphant. As he accepted a second hug from his friend, he couldn't help but sneer to himself. He had proved to himself just how irrational that sliver of doubt that preyed on him was. _

There's no such curse.

* * *

Almost a decade later, he keeps asking himself questions. 

He looks at Archie, and he sniffs, wiping rain water off his glasses with the sleeve of his soaked jacket. He can barely see him as a smudged silhouette standing against the light that comes from the inside of his apartment.

“Maxie? What the hell are you doing here?” Archie asks, rubbing his eyes as if to convince himself that he did not pass out on the couch and it is all a dream. “It’s pouring outside - do you know what time it is?!”

He is only a little guilty about bothering Archie like that, and so late, too. But any coherent excuse he has abandons his mind as he puts back his glasses and notices what Archie is wearing. He goes pale and almost drops the plastic bag he is carrying.

Maybe it looks decent enough to the untrained eye, but as he scans the horrid sweater he is too familiar with, he can only see it for its flaws. Spots where he had screwed up. The obvious signs of wear and tear, the threadbare sleeve cuffs. Even the color has washed out. 

That fucking thing carried a ten year-old curse on every stitch.

Archie snaps his fingers in front of his face, which makes him return back to reality, and offers to let him in and lend him some dry clothes. It's sort of an unspoken agreement between them that if either shows up at the other’s home late at night and uninvited, they can't shut the door in their guest’s face, no matter how tempting.

“There,” says Archie, awkwardly handing to Maxie an old tee shirt and a pair of tracksuit pants. “You know where the bathroom is, don'tcha?”

He nods, less interested about his new clothes and more preoccupied about Archie's. He changes into the way too big fit, and joins Archie on the couch. There's a rerun of some cooking show on TV. Maxie reaches into the bag, and pulls out a bottle of liquor. Archie scoffs.

“What the fuck, Maxie.”

“I have no more left at home. It's not my fault that the nearest convenience store is in your street.”

Archie hums. “Is that why you paid me a visit? You ran out of booze and forgot your umbrella at home?” If Maxie did not already know he was joking, he would say he sounded a little hurt. He glances sideways at him.

“Well, when you put it that way, you make it sound like I have a problem.”

“ _ You _ are a problem, redhead,” says Archie, rustling his hair as Maxie sighs. Archie's smile fades a little. “Is… is something wrong?” Maxie shakes his head slowly, his eyes glued to the TV as he pours himself a drink. He sounds even more snappy than usual, and that is a lot when talking about Maxie. He is distraught. 

Maxie wants to pretend he is focused on the show, but it is only a matter of time before Archie notices the furtive glances and the nervous fingers drumming on the couch.

“... I hate that sweater,” says Maxie before Archie can even open his mouth. He raises an eyebrow and puts his hands up. 

“An old friend of mine gave it to me,” replies Archie, tugging at the feeble fabric as Maxie scoffs. “Next time you want to show up uninvited, please give me notice in advance so I can dress accordingly.”

“Idiot…” mumbles Maxie, taking a sip. Maxie wonders why no one sees that Archie can be just as emotionally constipated as him. Perhaps because at least he has the decency to put on a smile? He sighs and closes his eyes, but it is hard to let go. “I hate it… for what it represents.”

Archie must be thinking he has finally gone nuts.  _ It is just a sweater, Maxie, _ he can practically hear him say. 

But to his surprise, Archie is silent. He looks at the piece of clothing, confused, and then at a very flustered Maxie. “What… it represents?”

“Forget about it, it's dumb,” mumbles Maxie. He complains when Archie turns off the TV and looks at him in the eye. Archie's gaze has always had that power over him. His blue eyes are enthralling, magnetic. Intimidatingly beautiful. Face to face with Archie, he is rendered defenseless and his mouth starts to feel dry. Maxie wonders if Archie knows about this weakness of his. 

“Nuh-uh. You can’t say something like that and then not tell me, y’know,” he says, chuckling as Maxie looks away in defeat, cheeks red. 

“Archie, do you believe in… curses?”

Archie stops laughing, and looks at Maxie, his heart beating fast. “Curses? Did you put a curse on this thing, Max?”

“I think I might have.”

Archie closes his mouth, looking at him in disbelief. Of all people, Maxie is the last one he expects would take superstition at face value. Sure, like Archie, he had researched the myths and legends surrounding Groudon back in the day, but that was because both were fully aware that the tales from old hid the truth in most unexpected ways. But it was not like he actually  _ believed _ in them himself.

“Please explain yourself,” he says, nonetheless. There must be a reason behind Maxie’s odd behavior. If something is making him anxious or paranoid, he wants to know.

“I should have never… knitted this for you. I have heard about it before. Tales of lovers who separated after one of them knitted a sweater for their significant other. Sometimes, the curse is so strong, they don't even have time to finish the sweater before their partner leaves them. They warned me, and I didn't listen. Why, it sounds even more stupid now that I put it into words…”

“And you worry,  _ why  _ exactly? It's not like you and I were ever… well...”

Maxie goes red, shaking his head as Archie fidgets nervously. “Of course, of course! I… I… have heard it works with friendships too.” Or with unspoken crushes.

“I see.” Archie takes off the sweater as Maxie squeaks in protest, but luckily for his health, he is wearing a tank top underneath. He hands the piece of clothing to its maker. “Is this why you think everything that happened... happened?”

“No. I mean. That would be the easy explanation, don't you think? The comfortable explanation.” He fidgets with the loose threads of the sweater. The yarn is still warm from Archie’s body heat, and he has to fight the temptation to bury his face on it and sniff it. He had always loved Archie’s scent.

“Then why…?”

“I guess I just got emotional after seeing you wearing it, that's all! If the curse is true, then, against all odds, this managed to stick around. And even if it is not… well, I want to believe, that you still cared.”

Archie does not say anything. He just opens his arms, and lets Maxie cling to his body, sniffing a little. He can tell he is trying his best to remain composed and not cry. He smiles a little and pats him on the back. “Is  _ this  _ because of the alcohol?” he asked, not brave enough to touch his hair in an attempt to comfort him.

“I'm n-not drunk…” he says half laughing, his voice shaky. Archie can feel his chest rumble against him, and closes his eyes, shaking his head and smiling to himself. Then, as if hit by electrical shock, Maxie stops hugging him, and puts some distance, clearly flustered. “Forgive me. This is so unlike me.”

Archie sighs, and shrugs. Little steps.

“I won't tell anyone, don't worry.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/reviews/comments appreciated! Hope you liked


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